The Juggler and Harem Princess

Long ago, in what is now Iran but was known then as Persia, there lived a harem slave named Haalima. She had been bought by the palace when she was only five summers old, in the year when Shah Sabir had fallen from his prized stallion and his son Aamir had been named Shah. Although it hurt to leave her family, even at such a young age Haalima had understood the gold paid for her would keep her brothers and sisters fed for many moons. And life within the harem was not so bad; she was pampered and almost constantly offered food and drink, and she was educated. That certainly would have never happened if she stayed in the desert to help her family herd goats.1

And better yet, Haalima even had a friend. His name was Mitra, and he was a servant within the harem walls. Like all the men, from soldier to servant, who served in this wing of the palace, Mitra was short and his voice never deepened with age. Haalima often wondered about this, as she could remember her brothers changing as they reached their fourteenth summers, but she loved Mitra either way.2

Haalima was different from the other harem girls though, which was why Mitra was her only friend. Whereas they were short and small with soft faces and round bodies, Haalima was all height and angles. Her nose was long and severe, and her chin jutted out quite a bit, making her look like a boy if she ever pulled her long black hair back. Her legs and arms were long and thin, and she did not like sweets so she did not fatten like the others. Only the barest hint of breasts and hips showed through her robes, making her eyes with their many dark eyelashes her most feminine feature.3

The other girls teased her about her looks, but after ten years in the harem Haalima no longer minded. The only jest she did not understand was how the girls seemed convinced that the Shah would never want to ‘be with’ her. Why would her looks matter? Besides, wasn’t she always veiled when the Shah visited the harem? So when he was with her, he never saw her anyway.4

But then came the lessons with Mother Kamilah- the Shah’s mother and a former harem slave herself- about what their real duties within the harem were. It seemed like all the other girls already knew and where planning ways to win the Shah’s attention. Haalima had run from the room to throw up, the girls’ laughter echoing in her ears.5

Later, Mother Kamilah came to her room to try and comfort her. It was nice how the older woman had rubbed her back like a child’s and talked away her tears, especially considering Haalima was crying about having to bed the woman’s son. Kamilah told her about her experience entering the harem only thirty years ago, and how happy she had been baring a son at twenty one. It was no easy task expected to bare the realm’s heirs, but it was a duty to be proud of- or so Kamilah said.6

“Besides,” Mother Kamilah said, her kind peacock-colored eyes alight. “You are special, Haalima.”7

“Special?” she asked through the tears.8

“Yes,” Kamilah said, nodding. “When I was put in charge of finding my son’s harem, he asked for one special girl. He was only five at the time, but so opinionated!” There was an unmistakable fondness in Kamilah’s eyes.9

“He said he wanted a girl who looked like a boy. Oh how worried I was that he would be an enjoyer of men! It’s hard enough to get heirs out of the Shah bloodline!” Even through her despair, Haalima giggled at this. Mother Kamilah laughed at the memory. “He must have seen my face, and quickly explained she was still to be a girl. He must have thought looking like a boy meant a girl would act like one. I was so relieved!10

“But you see, you are special, even though I don’t think you look anything like a boy,” Kamilah said, stroking Haalima’s back affectionately for one last time before standing to leave. “And no worries dear…before you are to be together, there’s a ceremony to wed you to the Shah. So there’s no shame in this before God.”11

Luckily, Kamilah had left before hearing Haalima whisper that there was no shame but for the fact she did not love the Shah.12

Although intact men were forbidden in the harem, there were hidden spots where the girls could go to look at the men of the city. With their virtue hidden by carved wooden shutters and the palace sitting high on a hilltop, the girls could look directly down on the city without fear of being seen. This was how Haalima had first spotted the juggler.13

The juggler was one of the many performers to swarm the city streets during the summer festivals, and by far one of the best at his skill. In the midday sun he would stand in the heat with his tunic off and his black hair free to brush his shoulders. From her perspective at the palace, Haalima could not see his face, but there was no mistaking the power and talent that went into his tosses. Admiration for his body and skill quickly grew to love as she watched year to year, so her heart was already taken when she learned of the harem’s expectations of her.14

As her tears dried, Haalima knew she could not stay here. As good as the harem life had been to her, she knew there was no way she could accept the Shah’s touch now, let alone lay with him as his wife. She had to escape this gilded life, and knew just who would help her do so.15

At first Mitra refused to help her, concerned for both their safeties should they be caught. But Haalima had told him she only wanted to slip away for a few hours to see the summer festival, not that she had no intention of returning. It took some badgering, but finally Mitra agreed to provide her with boy’s clothes and slip her through the kitchens when it darkened between meals.16

All that was left was to play innocent until after the evening meal. Haalima bathed, and asked the servant who tended to the girls’ hair to style hers close to her head. The servant, having heard of the incident that morning, did so, figuring Haalima was trying to make herself unattractive to the Shah for at least a night. She braided it close to Haalima’s skin and then piled it artfully atop Haalima’s head, a style that would have been stunning on any other girl. A style that would fit easily beneath a turban.17

Finally night came, and Mitra returned with the promised clothes. Her breasts, as small as they were, were bound to her chest and her pants left loose, so when the turban was secured to her head she look like just another servant boy. But just in case, Mitra bought the oils used to clean the wood furniture to darken her skin, and a stone to roughen her smooth nails. It took an hour hiding in an empty corner of the harem, but in the end Haalima was unrecognizable.18

Either way, Mitra quickly guided her toward the abandon kitchens, checking them first to make sure they were truly silent. Once inside, Haalima turned and hugged her good friend goodbye, praying he would escape too much questioning when she couldn’t be found. The truth of her escape hung on her tongue, forcing her to turn away and make for the back doors. Mitra would be safer knowing little.19

As she made her way outside, the heat closed in around her like a woolen blanket. The sun had set only an hour before, but its warmth remanded and the light of thousands of lanterns lit the city like it was still day. Haalima made for the light and for the wagons of the performers stationed by the city gates. She kept her head low and murmured pardons in a deep voice as she edged through the crowd, her progress slowed by the pure crush of people out to see the festival. But if she could find work with one of the caravans, they could sneak her from the city and out into the desert…20

But then the juggler was before her.21

Having never seen his face before, she recognized him only by the dozen or so red balls he tossed into the air, catching them effortlessly as though he was only plucking one from the sky. His shoulders were wide and rough with old scars, the very ends of his hair brushing against that sun-darkened skin. The muscles in his arms would bunch and jump as he tossed the next ball, strong legs allowing him to almost dance as he performed. And his face…different than Haalima dreamt it, but kind looking with sparkling brown eyes, the lightest dusting of a beard and high cheekbones.22

Haalima was caught up watching him, her eyes glued helplessly on him for hours. At times it would look like the ball slipped from his grasp and the crowd would gasp as they waited for it to hit the ground, but with relative ease the juggle would swing down and pick it up before it ever touched the dirt. This drew applause, as the crowd suddenly knew he had done it on purpose and because none of the other balls ever fell out of rhythm. As the act continued, the balls were replaced by sticks, and then by torches, until finally the set ended in a set of delicate glass globes which would shatter instantly if they were handled roughly.23

And she was still staring at him as the act ended and the crowd dispersed. It was only when he approached her that she started from her daze, and instantly blushed.24

“Lad?” The juggler asked, worried by the strange reaction. “Are you alright? Do you need something?”25

“Yes,” Haalima said, the word escaping her lips before she could stop it. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own, and barely look around to make sure they weren’t being watched, she stepped forward and kissed him. There was no logic to her actions, but the softness of his lips and that light tickling from his whiskers made it worth it.26

Unfortunately, the juggler didn’t seem to think so.27

He pulled away abruptly, putting his hands on her shoulders to hold her back and leaving the taste of sand and pipe smoke on her lips. He looked startled and confused, and the puzzlement was quickly turning to anger. “Lad, I don’t know what you think, but I am not interested in boys—“28

“I am no boy,” Haalima said in a moment of bravery. She glanced around to make sure they were not overheard, but the crowd was distracted by the other performers and shielding them from anyone else. Haalima reached for the edge of her turban, lifting it briefly so that the Juggler could see the hair piled atop her head. “I am in trouble.”29

At least the anger had gone, but the confusion had doubled. The Juggler had the sense to grab his equipment and begin pulling her through the crowd toward the wagons. His hands were hot against her arm, but Haalima didn’t mind that this was the first time she had been touched by a man since before she joined the harem. She was surprised, however, that this man that she loved but knew nothing of her seemed so willing to help her. It took them a while to navigate the crowds, but finally they reached the wagons.30

Beneath the shadows of the wagons, Haalima told her story to stranger. He listened, asking questions to verify the truth of what she said, but she was thankful about how he refrained from commenting. It was therapeutic to tell it, but she could see the look in his eyes when he realized he would be executed if he was spotted with her like this. But as the story came to an end, rather than run the Juggler lapsed into silence. Haalima had even told him about how she felt.31

“My name is Fahim,” He said at last. She liked his voice, liked the gravelly roughness that was so unlike the smooth sweetness the girls in the harem sounded like. “I am sorry about pushing you earlier, but—“32

Fahim was interrupted once again by the screams of the palace bells. Sure enough, the palace was suddenly brightly lit and little dots that had to be soldiers were streaming down from the same kitchen exit Haalima had taken to escape. Panic gripped her, but before she could give into it, Fahim had grabbed her arm again and was pulling her toward the open city gates. They rushed from the city, managing to sneak past the guards posted at the gates before they were slammed shut from the inside.33

But they were not the only ones outside of the gate.34

A group of soldiers had gathered, checking those leaving the city for the missing harem girl. The two of them looked suspicion, so they walked close to the side of another wagon. Unfortunately, that did not stop one of the soldiers from spotting them, and reaching to grab Haalima.35

"Hey!" Fahim shouted, knocking the soldier's hand away. There was a look of fury on his face, and Haalima could not help but notice the soldier's sword. "Don't touch my brother."36

"Brother?" The guard asked, dumbstruck. Haalima almost let her mouth drop open in shock as well, but managed to adopt the most boyish, angry look she could muster.37

"Yes, brother," Fahim growled out. "Is there something we can help you with?"38

The soldiers looked back and forth between Fahim and Haalima, as though trying to decide what was the truth. Haalima realized her turban was not quite secure, and a little wisp of hair had slipped out to fall across her forehead. It added just that tiniest touch of feminity to her face, which was why the soldier had grabbed for her. Now he was trying to decide who to believe, Fahim or his own eyes.39

Finally the soldier stepped back and apologized, letting them pass. Never once had Haalima thanked God she looked the way she did. They spent the night walking on the hard-packed dirt that served as a road, until Fahim managed to borrow a few horses from a friend they passed. The idea was to ride to a nearby village for the night while the guards searched the city, and ride for Fahim's village in the morning.40

"So I can come with you?" Haalima asked, worried about the answer she might receive. Fahim's horse slowed, and his eyes were glued on the lights on the horizon where the village was. Finally he nodded, and relief washed over her. She brought her horse close to his, slipping her hand into his. His skin was warm.41

"I don't love you yet," he said, and Haalima's heart broke just a little. "But I'll try. We've already gone this far..."42

Haalima nodded. That was all she could ask. Huddled together against the cooling desert, the juggler and the harem slave rode off.